


cherish our fast done days

by Moonlark



Category: Women's Soccer RPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Brainwashing, F/F, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Prison, Rebellion
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-01-21
Updated: 2020-03-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 07:15:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 9
Words: 19,347
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22353217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moonlark/pseuds/Moonlark
Summary: No prisoner has ever escaped from Corroghod, the maximum security planetary prison that holds the most dangerous criminals and dissenters in the Eyjavian Empire. No thell—the elite, hyper-loyal warriors trained and conditioned to fight for the Eyjavian Church and Empire—has ever disobeyed their programming and turned against the Empire. No rebel has ever infiltrated such a heavily guarded Imperial institution and lived to tell the tale. These are facts, as true and solid as the floors of a starship—and all of them are about to change.
Relationships: Eventual Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett/Emily Menges, Lindsey Horan/Emily Sonnett, Minor or Background Relationship(s), Other Relationship Tags to Be Added
Comments: 58
Kudos: 60





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This story has gone through so many reworks; honestly, I'm just happy to finally be posting it. College is very busy, so I might not be able to update regularly, but I'll try my best!
> 
> Title from the poem "No Sleep for the Wicked" by Taqralik Partridge, a really good Inuit spoken-word poet.

The first time Lindsey runs away from a temple of the Church, she’s nine years old and homesick. She leaves through an open dormitory window in the middle of the night and spend two days wandering around the streets of Col-Hatet, hanging around the port and asking everywhere for a ride off-planet. But she can't pay, and she knows enough that she won't go near the _nallum_ ships that load at the far end of the port, and eventually she realizes that there's no way home now. The fear wins out, and the next morning, she’s sitting on the ground outside Hatetti Temple's gates, waiting for them to open.

The matrons welcome her back in with barely a fuss, drying her tears and handing her some warm seabread before leading her back to the dormitory and letting her sleep. It is understood that she is just a child, that the temple is new to her, that she will not—cannot—make a home of it yet. Her home is still light-years away, in a stone-girded village that clung to the clifftops on a small, oft-forgotten planet—a place where water ruled supreme and it never stopped raining, where life perched precariously on narrow rock ledges, anchoring itself to the land by the thinnest of threads...

And at any moment, the ocean could rise up and rip your lifeline away.

***

The second time Lindsey runs away from a temple of the Church, she’s fourteen years old and in love. She’s been at the Nafhin Temple Academy on Neheban for two years now, and her first batch of silage marks is still sinking in, sprawling across her shoulders, stark against her skin. They seem to burn against her bones as she slips down the outside wall of the temple and lands in the silken shadows below.

Sofie is waiting for her down near the meat-packing yard, under the eaves of the usual smoke shack. She grins when she sees Lindsey and runs up to pull her into a kiss.

"Hurry," Lindsey whispers when they pull apart, "there's not much time, we have to be fast."

Sofie laughs. "We'll make it," she says, grabbing Lindsey’s hand and pulling them down the narrow street.

They make it to the dock in Nafho just minutes before their ship closes its doors. As the carrier slowly lifts away and the vast grasslands spread out below them, Sofie presses her face to the window and gasps in amazement.

"I never thought Nafho was so big!" she exclaims. "You can see the _hechet_ herds moving all over, and look! There's the river! Look, it's wonderful!"

Lindsey laughs delightedly, and leans over to look out the window as well. She’s traveled before, she know what kind of view to expect, but it still catches her by surprise and takes her breath away.

She leans her head on her girlfriend's shoulder and squeezes Sofie's hand. "A whole world before us," she grins, "and the whole galaxy ahead."

The two of them watch as Neheban drops away beneath them, watch till the dark sky outside turns into the initial hypnotic burst of hyperspace, and then fades to a rippling, seamless background for the long ride ahead. They talk and sleep the hours away, holding each other's hands tightly until the carrier slips out of hyperspace to inch its way to a berth at the great Jiahja space station.

The Academy guards are there waiting for them.

Lindsey never sees Sofie again. The other students whisper horror stories of speculation in the middle of the night, and no matter how hard she tries to ignore them, she can't seem to keep them out of her mind.

The tracker is implanted in her shoulder the next day.

***

The third time Lindsey runs away from a temple of the Church, she’s seventeen and now much less Lindsey than she is Thell designation L-14419, the number they have turned her into. She has learned how to kill ruthlessly, how to take someone apart in a thousand different ways, how to rip their secrets from them and leave them shattered and drowning. She has learned how to go unnoticed in a crowd, how to slip silently through the quietest of nights, how to find her way into the most heavily guarded room and yet leave no trace behind. She has learned how to endure tortures and deprivations extreme, and yet never give an inch. She has been turned into a weapon, a cold, hard, sharp-edged soldier trained to serve first the Church, second the Empire, and herself last--if at all. The final silage marks are new and stinging over the outsides of her hips, and she is almost done with her training, almost ready to become a true imperial thell of Eyjavit.

But she is still just enough of the old Lindsey to be afraid.

Security is much tighter at the Eyjen Archtemple, but she is not almost a thell for nothing. She takes only a small knife and nondescript clothes, and slips under the sluice gate in the temple's rear wall on a night when the moon is but a faint slit and the stars have hidden their fires behind a blanket of clouds. As soon as the temple is out of sight, shrouded behind thick fog and heavy branches, she stops and pulls out the knife.

It's easy to cut the tracker out and toss it into a nearby creek to get carried far away. It's easy to make her way to a small port city, four days' walk up the coast. It's easy to bargain for a ride off-planet, easy to slip away at a station a couple sectors over, easy to find her way to a small planet where the oceans are everything and the rain never ceases, almost like she just barely seems to remember from her faintest, earliest days.

There she ends up with the enormous task of making sense of what is left.

There is very little left of her to make sense of it.

When they find her, there is even less—Lindsey and L-14419 have been fighting each other for weeks, and she is exhausted from it. She has enough strength left, though, to make one last run for it.

She has to make one last run for it. There are no other options.

The Church has no use for disobedient thells.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting two chapters today, since Chapter 1 is really more of an introduction. I’m hoping to aim for a chapter every one to two weeks; Chapter 3 is already finished, and Chapter 4 mostly done, so they’ll be coming soon!

Sonny sits on the cold steel bench of the penal transport shuttle, hands cuffed behind her back and ankles shackled to the floor. Her ass is freezing, her nose aching where she's pretty sure it's broken, and the muscles in her shoulders and whole upper back are tight and sore beyond belief. Restraints just above her elbows hold her arms against the wall behind her. A buckle across her lap keeps her from sliding whenever the transport switches direction. The bright overhead lights reflecting relentlessly off the polished metal leave her without a hope for sleep.

A blonde girl, maybe close to Sonny’s age, taps a foot restlessly on the other side of the transport, occasionally pausing to whisper to the dark-haired, light brown-skinned girl beside her. On the blonde girl‘s other side, a short woman with cropped light brown hair is staring at the ceiling with boredom written all over her face, and on Sonny’s right, a taller, well-built, dark-haired woman is pretending to sleep. The seat on Sonny’s left is empty.

She sighs and shifts, wincing as the movement is protested by her aching shoulders. If only she could stretch them, it'd be so much better. If only she could move.

The girl across from her stops tapping. "Scuse me," she says with a faint Othen accent, aiming her voice toward the guard sitting by the cabin's door, "how much longer will we be on here?"

"Why, you wanna try running?" the guard snarls. "Won't get anywhere, not where you're going."

The girl shrugs, batting her eyelashes in a blatantly over the top way. "Oh no, I'm just getting a little sore from sitting here this whole time and I'm wondering when I'll get to stand up and stretch—"

A beep interrupts her, and the guard peers at his wristguard for a second, then scowls and stands. "Well, we're gonna be making a stop to pick up one more prisoner, so you'd best get ready to wait a wee bit longer." A laugh, as he types a code and the door opens. "You don't got freedom no more, prisoner."

He stomps away, the door sliding shut behind him. 

The girl shrugs. “Ah, well. Worth a shot. Fuck him, right?” she says lightly, making eye contact with Sonny.

“No thanks.” Sonny wrinkles her nose. “Not my type at all.”

“Yeah, agreed!” The girl lets out a giggle, a little startled-sounding. “Glad to see we’ve got taste on board. I’m Rose. This,” she nods her head towards the girl next to her, who she’d been whispering with, “is Mal. What’s your name?”

Sonny shrugs. They’re not going full names, so she supposes it’s okay. “Call me Sonny.”

“What’re you in for?” the one Rose had introduced as Mal asks. She’s got an accent too, even fainter than Rose’s—Selnic, maybe.

Sonny laughs, as loud as she dares. “Illegal activity, what else? Led a rebellion in the mines on Yantanen, stole and wrecked a fighter, seduced a Consul’s mistress, what more could you want? I’m everything the Imps’re scared of, but...” she trails off, then shrugs. “Well, they got me, and now I’m here. You?"

Rose grins. “Legion, of course.”

“Ooh, a revolutionary!”

“Two revolutionaries, excuse me,” Mal cuts in. “Don’t underestimate how many of us there are.”

“Three, actually. And we’re all just as dumb as can be, if the three of us getting caught is any indication,” the short woman says, a somewhat bitter grin on her face. “I’m Kling.” She leans forward as much as the shackles allow, aiming her words toward their final companion, who’s still pretending to sleep. “Hey, big girl, what about you?”

“What about me?” the tall woman asks back after a moment, lazily opening one eye. 

“Y’know, name, crime, all that stuff!”

“Why should I tell you?”

“Cause being quiet’s no fun,” Rose smiles brightly, “and this is boring enough already.”

The woman eyes them for a moment, then gives in with a sigh. “Sinc. I’m League. Happy?”

“League?” Mal’s eyes go wide, and she leans forward a little too. “That’s so cool! What ship?”

Sinc hesitates, then looks down. “The _Pineflower._ Ran with them for six years—not that she’s around anymore. The Imps caught up, and... I’m the only one who made it.”

Sonny bites her lip. She may not know much about the pirates of the League of Free Corsairs, but she does know that they consider their ships and crewmates as parts of their family. To lose all of them in one go...

"I’m sorry—" she starts to say, but she's interrupted by a voice over the comm.

"Docking coordinates approaching. Brace for jump."

The transport comes out of hyperspace with a jolt that makes Sonny’s stomach roil, and then a few moments of silence pass as the ship presumably drifts to a docking point and locks on. The strange sucking sound of a docking seal latching on to an airlock echoes through the transport, and Sonny cranes her neck trying to catch a glimpse of what's going on outside, as do the other prisoners. It's useless; the windows that aren't shuttered are positioned just outside their fields of vision, keeping them guessing as to who—or what—their new companion might be.

Boredom creeps in, and Sonny shifts. There's an itch on the base of her spine and she can't quite reach it. She squirms, trying to rub against the cold wall behind her, but her stiff muscles protest and the wall isn't rough enough to scratch the spot.

Footsteps sound, faint, and Sonny stills, listening. It's the heavy tromping tread of guard boots, five of them at least. Well more than needed for this stage in a prisoner transfer. Whoever the new prisoner is, they must be pretty important.

Or dangerous.

She hopes it’s the second one. It’d at least make things interesting.

The door slides open again, and the guard from before enters again, two more guards right behind him. He heads over to the empty seat next to Sonny, opening the ankle and arm restraints with a command typed on his wristguard, while the two new guards stand blocking the doorway. When the seat is ready, they step aside, and two more guards bring a third person through the doorway.

Everyone in the ship sucks in a breath. The woman standing shackled between the guards is solid—not too tall or bulky, but well-muscled, athletic, made with a warrior’s swift and tempered skill. Her eyes are stony, her face blank, her blonde hair a tangled mess around her shoulders and down her back. Streaks of dirt and dried blood smear their way across her arms, creating an air of primal ferocity. She's dressed in only a black sports bra and thin black sweats, and the dark silage marks spreading across her shoulders and down her back are clearly visible, standing out against the pale skin.

A thell.

An Imperial thell of Eyjavit. A cold-blooded emotionless killing machine. The most dangerous soldiers of the Empire, who never disobey, never leave witnesses, and never fail.

And yet here one is, bound and bloodstained in an Imperial penal transport, heading to the most isolated, infamous, high security prison in the whole empire.

The thell is pushed into the empty seat, and the restraints lock in place around her limbs. She flinches at the sound, but the stony demeanor returns almost immediately. Sonny shivers at the heat from the thell's leg next to hers; she'd heard somewhere that thells ran hotter than normal humans, but she'd never thought she'd get to confirm that to herself.

The guards test the restraints, making sure they're properly closed and sealed, and then the four new ones turn and leave. The first guard hesitates for a moment, looking around the transport cabin, then turns and follows the others. The door closes behind him.

A few minutes later, Sonny hears the whoosh of the docking seal releasing, and the transport begins to move again. It picks up speed, and then the warning for the imminent jump to hyperspace sounds from the comm, and then the ship shudders as it slips into hyperspace.

Sonny peeks at the thell from the corner of her eye. She doesn't want to draw the thell’s attention to herself, but her curiosity is burning, and she can't stop looking at the strange woman beside her. What had the thell done? Killed the wrong person? Destroyed Imperial property? Let someone live? No thell disobeyed--but what else could have landed her here?

Her fellow prisoners seem interested too. Rose and Mal are openly staring at the thell, Kling’s a little more subtle about it, and Sinc is purposefully looking at everything else in the cabin.

“What’s you name?” Rose asks suddenly, leaning forward once again.

The thell starts, straightening up in one swift surprised motion. She stares around for a second, her eyes unfocused and wide. She looks confused, as if she doesn't quite understand the question.

"It's a _thell_ ," Kling laughs harshly. "Fucking empire battle slave. You think they'd give it a name?"

The thell's eyes widen even more, and she looks down again. Her shoulders are raised a little higher now, almost as if she's trying to fold in on herself.

Sonny shoots a glare in Kling’s direction. "Ignore her," she says, turning toward the thell as much as she can, "she doesn't seem to like using her brain very much. What's your name?"

The thell hesitates for a second. "L-144... 19," she mumbles, stumbling over the last two numbers. Her voice is deep and rusty, as if she hasn't used it in ages and isn't sure if she's allowed to.

Mal frowns and leans forward from across the aisle. "Do you have any other names?" she asks, trying to speak as gently as she can.

The thell hesitates again, biting her bottom lip. "I... I don't remember," she says, her voice cracking on the last word, carrying with it a note of distress, a faint hint of fear and a solid undercurrent of confusion. She sounds almost heartbreakingly lost.

Even Kling’s gone quiet now.

Sonny reaches out with her knee and knocks it softly against the thell's. "Hey," she says, as confidently as she can, "I'm sure you’ll remember. No one can forget much around my glorious presense."

“Suuure, miss ‘fucked-a-Consul’s-mistress’,” Rose mutters.

The first crack of a smile flits on the thell's face, surprisingly sweet. "How charming," she says, a little laugh hidden behind the word. She nudges her own knee back against Sonny’s.

Sonny grins back. "You will, don't worry. Why are you here?"

In an instant the earlier emotions vanish, and the thell goes blank as the transport's walls. "The Church has no use for disobedient thells," she recites, flat as a board. Her gaze lands, empty and far-off, on the floor of the transport.

“What? Wait, um, what do you mean?" Rose says, and Sonny is just as confused as Rose sounds—the sudden change is unnerving. She leans forward as much as she can, trying to get the thell to look her in the eyes.

There is no movement.

"...you okay?" Mal asks, hesitant, leaning over Rose’s shoulder a little.

The thell shivers, but doesn't otherwise move.

"L-1..." Sonny starts, but can't bring herself to finish the number. That's not a proper name for anyone, she thinks, and bites her lip again.

And anyway, the thell gives no sign that she's heard.

No matter how hard they try, none of them can get a response. The thell just sits there, barely moving, staring blankly at the grate below. Her hands are clenched in fists behind her, tight against the binders, the only sign of any emotion or consciousness in her whole body.

For the first time since she’d had been brought on board, Sonny finds herself tasting fear in the back of her throat. She looks away and swallows, clenching her jaw a little.

The rest of the trip feels like it takes an eternity, and not just because time is different in hyperspace. Eventually, Mal and Rose start talking to each other in low, hushed voices. The conversation between the other two Legion soldiers grows to include input from Kling, who still seems jumpy about being in such close proximity to a thell.

Time passes.

The fear recedes.

Sonny closes her eyes, leans her head against the wall behind her, and tries to sleep.

***

Corroghod is an ocean planet, vast stretches of deep blue water broken only by the jutting jagged peaks of the occasional underwater mountain, just tall enough to breach the surface. Between evaporation from the heat of the isolated system's sun, and the wind currents that sweep through the atmosphere, there are frequent storms, many of them violent. Tectonic and volcanic activity (from which the mountains are formed) is a near constant. Between the storms and eruptions, the surface of the ocean is never still, lashed by rain, wind, and great pressure waves—sometimes all three. It is an inhospitable planet for any creature that does not dwell well beneath the waves, in the darkened benthic depths of the vast Corroghan ocean.

This is the planet upon which the high security Corroghod imperial prison is built.

A small Sephran-class penal transport slides out of hyperspace far above the prison, over the angry clouds. It circles down toward the prison in a low, sloping flight, tacking into the wind. A giant door slides open in the western-most wing of the complex, and the transport slips through the door to the quiet of the hangar within. The door slides closed behind it, locking with a decisive click.

Out in the water, a pair of eyes watch the landing. They watch the door open and close. They make careful note of the arrival, and then turn and vanish without a trace, slipping off, down, away.

***

Inside the hangar, the penal transport is powering down its engines. The shuttle has settled in the designated spot on the wide floor, and a group of guards escort the prisoners on board into the pod that will deliver them to their assigned cell block. The appearance of a thell among the new arrivals causes a brief commotion, but the guards are well-trained and disciplined, and the transfer is completed with minimal trouble. The prisoners know that at this point, it's far too late to resist.

Once you're on Corroghod, you do not leave.

There are no other scheduled arrivals for that day, and the hangar slowly empties. It's well away from the rest of the prison, only accessible by pod and the tracks they run on, which are highly electrified, so the chance of prisoners reaching the hangar is approximately zero. No guards are needed. The prison is well-designed. There has never been an escape.

Time passes. The hangar remains dark. Silence hangs in the air, blanketing the ships that squat in the emptiness, solid, hulking, motionless.

It is well past midnight when a panel on the underside of the penal transport shifts slightly. It's a tiny maintenance hatch, sealed tight against the vacuum of space and the possibility of tampering. But now it slides open on noiseless hinges, seal releasing with a quiet hiss, and a shadow slips from within. It closes the hatch behind itself, resealing it to erase any tracks, and then steals off into the vast empty darkness of the hangar.

Time passes.

An alarm is disabled.

A door edges open.

The lashing rain of Corroghod's surface tears at the shadow's form as it places a tiny cylinder in the door's locking mechanism, then closes it and turns to look at the roiling sea below.

It raises a wrist to its face and whispers, “Shrike 3, in position.”

A minute passes, and two hushed responses come in: “Shrike 4, online.” “Shrike Leader, standing by. Mission is go.”

The shadow nods to itself, grabbing on to the outer wall as a massive gust of wind sweeps across the tiny ledge. “Going dark,” it murmurs, “see you in a bit.”

It looks at the dark water, then glances at the closed door beside it, then back at the water again.

It whispers a quick prayer, closes its eyes, and jumps.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, everyone, here's chapter 3! Around this time (Saturday evening) is about when I'll be aiming for in terms of updates. Hope you like it!

Corroghod surprises Rose.

This is true of both the planet and the prison. She'd heard stories. They'd all heard stories. Corroghod was an easy place to tell stories about, an ever-storming planet with the galaxy's toughest prison anchored on it. And between the stories and the stress and the deaths she'd had to witness, Rose had come up with an idea of what she thought Corroghod was like.

Corroghod had to be hard and rough. It had to be a place where you always watched your back, or else you'd end up with a knife in it. Sure, there were captured allies there, League and Legion fighters imprisoned in its depths, but the prison also held the Empire's worst criminals, the murderers, the slavers, the vicious snarling bastards who'd rip your throat out with their teeth. And the guards had to be brutal, too, cruel and cold and filled with sadistic hatred and a thirst for blood--they had to be, or else they wouldn't last as Imperial guards at Corroghod. The prison had to be a hell, and the planet had to match.

To an extent, this image is true. Through a small window in the wall of her cell, she can see rain battering the tough glass as a storm rages outside. The roar of the wind and waves echoes faintly from beyond the prison walls, a rough ceaseless roar that refuses to give him peace. The guards had been harsh, hurling her around and lashing out if she didn't move fast enough. The other prisoners she'd passed had snarled and scowled as she was marched by, flinging threats and curses at her and pounding on the walls in a frenzy of hatred and rage. It's not only League and Legion that threaten the power of the empire.

But once they’d crossed over to the highest security wing of the prison, the noise had stopped. Here, the cell doors are solid, thick plates with a single barred window in them rather than the cage-like grates, and the prisoners stay well away from the doors. This is where they keep the political dissidents--League and Legion, pro-alien advocates, native language educators, separatists and rebels and revolutionaries from all over the ever-growing swath of conquered worlds around the Empire's far edge.

The cell that Rose is dumped in is small, barely large enough for the rough bunk bed nailed to the wall. There's a tiny washset in the far corner, and a coarse blanket crumpled up on each bed. Mal’s shoved in after her, and the don’t even have enough time to turn around before the door shuts with a heavy thud and the lights flick off.

For a moment, there’s silence—deafening, oppressive, final.

“Well,” Mal says, “at least they didn’t split us up.”

Rose snorts a laugh. “Small mercies.” She flops down on the bottom bunk. There’s no point in doing any sort of thing to get ready for bed, not when there’s nothing in here but what they brought with them. “You fine with the top, or is tonight a company kind of night?”

“Don’t think I wanna sleep alone tonight,” Mal admits, and, well, Rose has never been able to say no to her.

“C’mere,” she mumbles, holding out an arm, and Mal slides in beside her, curling up with a sense of relief along her spine. It’s how they’d slept in the barracks when the nightmares got bad, seeking comfort in closeness, and neither of them are naive enough to think there won’t be nightmares tonight.

They are on Corroghod, after all.

This is where nightmares are made.

***

The dark water around her is the coldest thing Em has ever felt.

It won’t hurt her, she knows. The deepsuit is designed to meticulously monitor and maintain pressure and core body temperature at an acceptable limit, so there’s no risk of freezing to death in Corroghod’s frigid ocean—and besides, she’d spent the last day in an unpressurized portion of an Imperial shuttle, and AD had dead-dropped a couple hundred klicks away more than a week ago, so if the deepsuit model was gonna fail neither of them would still be kicking. Still, the cold seeps through the thin material and surrounds Em like a second skin, wrapping her up as the light above fades out of sight.

She checks the depth. Still a hundred meters to go before she can turn the signal on. It’s an extremely faint signal, designed to slip under Imperial radar like all of their comms for this mission, but it won’t take much at all to alert her mission partners.

She checks the depth again. Almost there... a little further... perfect. She taps the screen on her wristguard briefly, and then settles in to wait.

It’s so dark that she doesn’t notice AD until her teammate’s almost on top of her, seemingly materializing out of nowhere and making Em startle a little. AD signs a laugh at that, then beckons for Em to follow her. Even with the assistance the deepsuit brings, it’s still a half hour swim to the pod AD had dead-dropped in, so there’s no time to waste.

As soon as the airlock cycles, she releases the deepsuit’s seals and tugs off the mask, shivering in the dry air and rubbing at her face. “Fuck, I really don’t like this thing.”

“How was the trip in?” AD asks, shuffling over to the little cooker and programming in something—a hot beverage, hopefully.

Em shrugs. “Could’ve been better, could’ve been a whole lot worse. The vacuum of space is definitely not my idea of a good time.”

AD just nods at that and hands her the cup of laweah tea she’d whipped up and a warming tablet. She hasn’t made any for herself, but it’s no secret that cold hits Em a little worse than the standard human, what with her Kaitze heritage and all.

(It’s visible, she knows, if you know where to look—the way her pupils contract in a slightly more slit-like form, the way her canines are sharper and somewhat fanglike, unnerving if you’re not used to it—but most of it manifests in other ways.)

“Thanks,” she mumbles, burying her face in the mug and trying to stop her teeth from chattering.

“No problem.” AD’s already pulled out a gear crate, sorting through it. “Most of you stuff’s in here. You got me a way into the hangar?”

“Maintenance door, far west side, about 10 meters up. System thinks it’s sealed, so it should be ready for you whenever.”

“Good work.” AD looks up. “C’mon, it’ll be a while before Kling reports in. Sit down, dry off, get comfy.”

Em doesn’t need to be told twice.

*** 

Kling doesn’t call in until barely an hour before local dawn, transmitting a sizeable package of data in nine small chunks (Em had designed the data transfers to piggyback off the prison’s own Imperial signals, but even so anything too large is more likely to be noticed), but she’s sure got news when she does.

“Cell H-104,” comes the whisper, no greeting needed, “east side, second level.” Above the water level—not great for their planned entry—but still doable. The scans Kling’s gotten, combined with the data Em swiped from Corroghod’s servers, should be enough to build them a working model of the prison.

“Any possible allies on the first level?” AD asks. They’d talked about this, contacting other prisoners and bringing them in on it, and decided that if they could get a few extra souls out of Corroghod, they would.

“The cell below’s got someone who sympathizes in it—calls herself Sonny, led a unionization effort of Yantanen—but her cellmate might be a problem.”

“Why?”

“Thell.”

The single word, hushed as it is, echoes in the sudden stillness of the pod. Then—

“A thell?” Em doesn’t bother hiding her surprise. _That_ hadn’t been on the penal transport’s manifest. “In Corroghod?”

“How the hell did that happen?” AD frowns.

Kling’s response is even quieter than before. “No idea. I don’t think she’s dangerous, but she seemed pretty fucked in the head, so we shouldn’t trust her too much probably. I... might’ve been a little harsh when I first saw her, but.” A sigh. “Poor thing, fighting the conditioning must be hell. She’s having a really hard time of it; couldn’t even remember her own name.”

AD sighs right back. “Well, if she’s fighting it, maybe she’ll be willing to turn a blind eye to us.”

“Or she might be too far gone to notice,” Em adds. She feels bad about saying it, but if that’s the difference between the mission succeeding or not...

“I’ll feel them both out,” Kling says. “Talk to them tomorrow. In between looking for Tobs, that is.”

“Any sign of her?” AD asks, leaning forward a little. 

“Nothing yet, but I didn’t get much time to look today. Give me a day or two, and I’ll find her.”

Em pulls up the copies of Corroghod’s logs she’d hacked into. They’re up to date, she knows; Imperial firewalls are tough, especially around Corroghod’s information, but she didn’t make Shrike Team by sitting on her ass doing nothing. “Logs have her in Cell H-217. Still listed for imprisonment, no mention of an execution slated or anything, so you should have plenty of time.”

“H-217, got it. I gotta go now, okay?” Kling says. They can’t risk talking for too long, and they’re nearing the five minute mark.

“Good luck,” AD responds. 

Em echoes her, then cuts the connection. Once Kling’s gone, she turns back to Corroghod’s logs and scrolls back up through them, to the beginning of Cell Block H.

“Cell H-004,” she finds, reading aloud so AD doesn’t have to peer over her shoulder, “Inmates: 1. Sonnett, Emily: treatment: imprisonment and rehabilitation, if possible (Note: two previous escapes (Yanto District Jail, Ullorian Sector Imperial Penitentiary), monitor carefully); 2. Thell designation L-14419: treatment: reconditioning; failing that, decommissioning.”

“Decommissioning,” AD whispers, horror sliding onto her face, “that’s...”

“A fancy way to say murder.” Em sets the datapad down and stares at it. “Fuck, we’ve gotta do something.”

AD nods. “We’ll get them out. As many as we can.”

Both of them know it’s a promise they might not be able to keep.


	4. Chapter 4

Kling finds Tobin at breakfast the next morning.

It's not hard; Tobin's sitting by herself in the far corner of the mess hall, the other prisoners giving her a healthy distance, so she stands out pretty well. She's hunched over a little, picking at her plate and staring at the table, and even from across the room Kling can feel the _don't talk to me_ vibes she's giving off. 

_Too bad_ , Kling thinks, and carries her tray over.

Tobin looks up as Kling slides into the seat across from her, and it's almost comical, the way the scowl on her face freezes and abruptly jolts into shock. "Fucking--" she hisses, eyes wide, grabbing Kling's wrist, "what the hell are you doing here?!"

"Tone it down, will you? I'm trying to eat," Kling says, pulling free. In an undertone, she adds, "Fetching you, of course."

"What... how? Why?"

"You didn't think we'd just leave you here? I'd never be able to look Christen in the eye again." 

Tobin shakes her head a little, but the shock's started to fade, a little hopeful grin taking over. "Are you all here? Please tell me you didn't all get yourselves caught for me."

"Nah, I'm the only one on the inside for this." Kling takes a bite of the strange porridge the mess hall's serving for breakfast, then makes a face and nearly spits it out--fuck, that's atrocious--but forces herself to swallow. "The other two are just standing by, doing the whole sneaky thing, you know."

Tobin's smile gets wider, and she reaches out to touch Kling's wrist again. "You're... you're really here. Sorry, I... I'm still having trouble believing it."

"Hey, if we pulled off the Gallehan heist--and we did--we can do this too!"

"This... isn't Gallehan." Tobin's smile slips a little. "It isn't _anything_ like Gallehan here."

"Don't worry, Shrike 2," Kling grins, "we've got a plan."

*** 

L-14419 sits on her bunk and stares at the far wall, trying to keep herself grounded.

Sometimes she gets like this, where everything is very far away and detached and looking at herself through a screen of smoke. It's mostly passed now, but there's still a danger of her drifting off again for a while afterwards. The Church fucked her up like this, took her and turned her inside out and put something else in there with her, and it takes a whole lot of energy to keep herself in even a semblance of together. 

She breathes in deep, as deep as she can until it feels like her chest is about to split open. That's good. The tightness, the pain-- that's hers. It's her body, and that's a reminder. She exhales, then digs nails into palms. It stings-- her nails, her palms. She isn't going to give this up, no matter how much more reconditioning they try.

The girl who was next to her on the transport is pacing around the cell's small floorspace, back and forth in tiny circles. The rest of the cell block had been let out for something--food, maybe--but the door to their cell hadn't opened, and it seems like it's getting to the girl. There's not much room to pace in here; L-14419 idly wonders if the girl paces a lot, and if she's used to a larger pacing space. It must be hard for someone who'd had freedom, to be boxed in like this. Not that L-14419 would know. She's never had freedom, or if she did, she doesn't remember it.

No. That is a dangerous falsehood. Freedom is for individuals. A thell is not an individual. One cannot have something one is incapable of having. 

L-14419 shivers. She doesn't like that thought.

She's not allowed to dislike that thought.

"You’re gonna need a name," the girl says suddenly.

L-14419 looks up, startled, trying to hide her confusion. Why are these people so obsessed with names and why does she need one? How should she respond? 

"What's yours?" she asks.

She must have said the right thing, because the girl stops pacing and throws a peace sign. "Emily Sonnett, at your service." She flashes a wide smile. "Most folks calls me Sonny."

_Her smile’s really cute._

No. That is a dangerous observation. She does not get attached. She cannot afford to get attached. She is not allowed to get attached.

But the girl is looking at her expectantly, and she finds that she doesn't really want to disappoint her new cellmate so soon. "Sonny?" she tries.

Sonny laughs. "Yep, that’s me! And your name is...?”

_I don't have one._ "L-14419."

"Don’t you have anything besides that?"

"No."

"Really? Not even a nickname?"

"They never gave me anything else." She shrugs. "I never needed anything else. All I had to be was L-14419. That was my name."

Sonny’s silent for a moment. “God, that’s awful,” she says eventually.

“Why?” L-14419 asks. “It’s true. It’s what I was made to be, what I am.”

“And you’re sure about that?

L-14419 takes a deep breath and lets it out slow before answering. “It’s... I have to be.”

Sonny frowns. “But do you really want to be? Like—they don’t own you anymore, okay? They’ve already gone and dumped you here, you can’t make things worse now, so... don’t you want to be something else? Something more?”

“I don’t understand what you mean. What is wrong about L-14419?” For some reason, it’s becoming increasingly hard to keep her voice steady.

"It’s not a name!" Sonny shakes her head. "That's a... a serial number. A name needs to show individuality and personality, and that just... doesn't! It doesn't have any meaning!"

L-14419 looks away. Something about this conversation is really making her head hurt. _Don't you see_ , a part of her wants to scream at this girl, _I don't get to have meaning! I can't have personality or individuality or any of that shit! I'm not allowed!_ But the strong conditioning takes hold and she feels herself detaching, feels herself starting to drift again, as the words come out of a mouth (her mouth, although it doesn't feel like it):

"I am Thell designation L-14419. By the spirit--"

"But you've got to have a name other than that!"

"--of Ejyavit, I am bound--"

"A number isn't a fucking name!"

"--to serve the Church--"

"What the hell, look at me, come on, don't just shut me out--"

"--and the Empire as they see fit--"

" _For Jaarka's sake, will you shut up and listen to me!_ "

For a moment, everything stops--

L-14419 feels a sudden snapping, a jolt, like the shiver of an earthquake as plates realign. A hazy word drifts to the front of her mind, tendrils of memory trailing from it, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't grasp them, can only hear the word echoing around in her mind--

Home--

_She sounds like home--_

"What language is that?" she chokes out.

Sonny frowns. "Huh?"

"What language?" L-14419 repeats, her voice trembling. Why is it doing that? It shouldn't be doing that. Sonny hadn't even done anything besides yell in another language--

_The language of home--_

"Ruome," Sonny answers. "Why, you taking a fancy to it?"

"Say something in it." Hoarse. Insistent. The part of her that is a responsible thell says she is reacting inappropriately and needs to regain control, but that part is small compared to the longing washing over her and the pounding sense of _home_ that's taken up residence in her throat.

Now Sonny’s really looking at her strangely, hesitating, eyebrows furrowed. "What... do you want me to say?"

_Stop this_ , the thell conditioning says, _you're stronger than this._

L-14419 swallows. "Any... anything."

"Um, okay..." Sonny bites her lip. " _Why do you want to hear Ruome?_ "

And suddenly L-14419 feels tears pricking at the corners of her eyes. " _Home_ ," she manages, the Ruome word surfacing on her tongue as easily as if it had been placed there, new and yet so familiar.

" _What?_ "

L-14419 blinks, watching her vision blur. " _It sounds like home_ ," she says, and sinks down onto the bed, " _all rocks and wind and water_ ," and she hides her face in the pillow and starts to cry.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So there's chapter 4! I've had the "language scene" as I've been calling it in my head forever (it was one of the first things I wrote for this story) and I'm glad to finally have it published. Hope you guys like it!


	5. Chapter 5

The cell door doesn't open until... close to dinnertime, probably, judging by the angle of Corroghod's harsh sun shining through the tiny barred window. Sonny's spent the whole day sitting on the lower bunk, arms wrapped around the warm body of her cellmate, holding the thell and giving what comfort she can. L-14419 had taken quite some time to cry herself out, but she'd slept after that, and Sonny almost doesn't want to wake her. But she hasn't eaten in nearly two days, and her stomach is actually starting to physically hurt, so when the lock on the cell door clicks and the little light above it turns green, she shakes L-14419 awake.

At some point, outfits of thin orange cloth had been shoved through a slit in the door, and Sonny insists they put them on. The shirt's short-sleeved, so some of the silage marks are still visible on L-14419's arms, but it's better than nothing. This is the wing of Corroghod where political dissenters are put, after all; some of them would no doubt jump at the chance to beat up a thell.

A pair of guards lead them to the mess hall, obviously reluctant to be dealing with a thell, and Sonny has to tamp down a bitter laugh at the thought of their fear compared to the memory of holding L-14419 as she sobbed. It's enough to leave a sour taste in the back of her mouth, lingering even when the guards deposit them in the mess hall's serving line.

She turns and takes in the sight of the mess hall with a quick, sweeping look: long tables and low benches (all bolted down), guards stationed along the walls and up on a catwalk above, serving area caged in on the far end. Quite a few prisoners are already sitting down--some shoving food in their mouths as fast as they can, others taking their time--and most of them look disheveled and exhausted, most likely having just returned from a long day of forced labor. Over in the far corner, she spots the other four prisoners who were on the same transport as them, huddling around each other with three unfamiliar prisoners, the rest of the mess hall giving them a wide berth. 

L-14419 follows her through the line, mimicking her with a precision that even Sonny finds a little uncanny. She's hunched over a little, trying to make herself smaller, less noticeable, but already there are a few eyes on her, and Sonny can tell she's uncomfortable. The thell's hands are shaking a little, the plastine of the single blunt provided utensil rattling softly against her tray, and there's a somewhat hunted look creeping into her eyes.

Sonny takes one look at her and decides, _the fewer people, the better._

The group in the corner looks up warily as they approach, but the short woman from the transport--Kling--flashes them a cheery smile. "Welcome! Have a seat! I was wondering if you'd show." 

Rose scoots over to open up a space next to her, elbowing Mal in the process, and Sonny grins and drops into the seat. L-14419 pauses slightly before sitting too, a slight hesitation that Sonny nearly misses.

Mal gestures at them, addressing the two girls across from her and Rose, neither of whom Sonny recognizes. “So this is Sonny and...”

“L-14419.”

“L-14419! Right. I was telling you about them—we met them on the transport here.” She looks back towards Sonny, leaning around Rose rather suddenly and nearly dipping her elbow in Rose’s _drollac_ mash. “That’s Sammy,” Mal points to the tall, somewhat gangly girl sitting across from her who looks like she's halfway to a panic attack at the sight of a thell, “and that’s Andi. They're Legion too, and they've got the cell right below us.”

Andi—the brown-haired one—gives a nervous sort of half-wave. 

“Nice to meet you,” Sonny returns, and she’s a little surprised to hear L-14419 echo her.

"I'm Tobin," the last unfamiliar woman says, an easy smirk on her face. "Did you really get caught with a Consul's mistress?"

Sonny can feel herself blushing a little. "...yeah. It's kinda stupid, I know--"

At the end of the table, Sinc snorts. "It's also iconic."

"Fair." She can't argue with that. 

“Well! Now that we’ve all met, um...” Kling clears her throat a little and turns toward L-14419, holding out a hand. "I know I was kinda nasty to you on the flight in," she says, tone serious, "and I'd like to apologize. It's obvious you've been through a lot, and what you're doing is... very brave. I shouldn't have dismissed you like that."

L-14419 glances down at the hand being extended to her, a bit of confusion showing on her face. 

"Of course you don't have to accept if you don't want to," Kling continues, "but... well, I should've known better, so. I'm sorry."

For a moment, there's silence, the whole table watching. Then--

"Okay."

It's quiet, just one word, and L-14419 still looks a little off-balance as she says it, but she does reach out carefully to shake Kling's hand—quick, firm, and then withdrawing back into her shell in one movement. Sonny gets the impression that no one’s apologized to her before.

"So what're you all doing over here?" she cuts in, trying to draw the attention away from her cellmate.

Tobin raises an eyebrow. "What, a couple of longtime friends can't hang out with each other?"

“Yeah, Tobin’s an old buddy of mine,” Kling grins. "We go waaay back."

Tobin snickers, obviously finding something amusing about that. "And you haven't changed since—still running in all 'no thoughts, head empty'. Anyway," she continues, lowering her voice but still steamrolling over Kling's lighthearted protest, "we're making plans to get out of here."

Sonny sits up straight, her eyebrows shooting up. "Oh?" she says through a mouthful of the tasteless mash.

"Yeah. We've got a couple friends outside who're real good at what they do, and we figure there’s a chance, at least. We could use your help if you’re willing—might as well bust out as many of us as we can, right?"

"Right. Obviously." Rose giggles under her breath. "Just to be as big an inconvenience for the Imps as possible."

Kling leans forward. “So what do you say?”

Sonny opens her mouth to accept, but before she can get a word out—

“We’re in.”

L-14419 is leaning forward in her seat, her eyes burning, her lips pressed in a hard line. At the sudden scrutiny of the whole table, she wavers slightly, but the hesitation is quickly replaced by steel resolve.

“We’re in,” she repeats, as Sonny nods agreement, and then, quieter but no less fierce, “I want to see them pay.”

"All right," Tobin says, something like admiration creeping into her voice. “Since you’ve got a bottom level cell, you’re in the ideal location for our friends to pay you a visit... tonight, maybe. How’s that sound?”

"Sounds good," Sonny says, and then takes another bite. The food sucks, but she's hungry enough not to care--and besides, the chance of freedom being presented to her is far more important. She shovels the rest of her portion in and swallows. "Third time's the charm. I'm ready to get this moving."

Tobin nods. "Glad to have you on board."

Sonny stands, grabs her empty tray, and stacks L-14419’s on top of it. "Nah, don’t bother,” she says as L-14419 starts to get up to follow, “just taking care of the dishes. I'll deal with it.” She backs down the aisle until she’s sure the thell isn’t gonna try to come along with her, giving a little wave to the group, and then turns—and nearly runs into someone.

"Hey, watch it!" she yelps, losing her grip on the trays.

The man blocking her way is tall, solid, with short blond hair and a scowl on his face. "I sure have been watching," he snaps, words short and clipped as he crosses his arms. "I've been watching all meal as you and your pals chatted it up with a fucking _thell_."

_Ah, hell._ This is what she'd been worried about. Already a significant portion of the prisoners are watching, with even more pretending not to.

Sonny plasters a bland smile on her face. “Would you mind moving aside?” she says, as pleasant as she can manage. “I’m trying to clear my dishes.”

“Not until you say why you’re hanging out with that _thing_ ,” the man huffs, frowning angrily. “Is it some kinda misguided pity thing? A prison pet project? Something to keep your crazy busy while you're here?” 

Sonny shrugs. "Don't see how it's any of your business."

The whole mess hall is staring now. Even the guards at the doors are watching intently, although they haven’t started moving yet.

“Oh yeah?” the man growls at her. “Since you're here, making me look at it, I'd say it is my business. You a sympathizer or something? Think you’re gonna make these fuckers like you by keeping that murderous enforcer of theirs alive?” He laughs, a harsh, nasty sound. “Why not get rid of it now? I can think of a dozen ways to make it pay, and make it _fun_.”

Anger flares, and Sonny can feel herself sneering. “Only a dozen?” she bites out. “You must not be trying very hard. Did you misplace your brain this morning?”

The man draws back slightly. “Doesn't take brains to know right from wrong. Or did you get your morals turned around?"

“Well, at least I have some.” Sonny shrugs, sneer shifting into a mocking grin. “Of course, I’m not the traitor trying to do the Imps’ jobs for them.”

Something in the man’s face twists. “I’ll show you what we do to _traitors_ ,” he snarls—

She sees the punch coming, but doesn’t react in time. It slams into her face, and pain shatters through her skull. She doesn’t remember hitting the ground, just rolling over, both hands clutching at her nose, blood hot against her lips. 

Distantly, she becomes aware of screaming, and she forces herself up enough to see the other prisoners fleeing to the mess hall’s edges and the guards closing in, a ring of crackling stun batons, circling toward a spot just down the aisle from her—

—and there, in the center of it, the man limp at her feet and her hands stained red, is L-14419.

***

L-14419 comes to consciousness suddenly and violently, surging upright with the sharp hum of " _danger_ " ringing in the back of her throat. She lands in a fighting crouch, eyes darting around, scanning for the threat--but she is met only with blank white walls and a pair of startled eyes.

It comes back to her. Corroghod. Her defectiveness. The mess hall. The man who hurt Sonny. The sticky familiar warmth of blood on her fingers. The threat eliminated.

( _Guards all around, too close and she wants to fight, to run, but she doesn't, she just stands there--_ )

She sits down heavily on the bed.

"You alright?"

The voice is faint, muffled, and that's probably why L-14419 doesn't jump right back up again. She looks up to see Sonny sitting slumped on the floor, back against the wall and head tilted upwards. The other girl's holding an off-white towel against her face, brown stains of dried blood standing out against it.

The rush of anger that courses through L-14419's gut catches her by surprise, even though she's used to anger. "I am fine," she says, sliding off the bed to kneel in front of Sonny, reaching for the towel. " _You_ are not."

She doesn't miss the way Sonny winces as she peels the towel away from her face. It's a mess; there's heavy mottled bruising on her left cheek, tracks of dried blood cracking over her lips, and her nose is skewed off to the side, swollen and tender--broken and still quite fresh.

The anger hardens, taking up residence in the pit of L-14419's stomach and smoldering. "That needs to be set," she says, gesturing at Sonny's face. 

Sonny grimaces a little, as much as her battered mouth allows. “Hell,” she sighs, and then, “yeah. You gonna...?”

“I... can.”

"Go ahead, then."

She's careful, as gentle as she can be, but Sonny's breathing rough and whimpering by the time she's done, eyes screwed tight and hands balled up in fists. There's a little more blood leaking out, and she presses the towel back to Sonny's upper lip, before shifting over to sit next to her, watching Sonny relax as the pain dies down.

For a moment, they sit in silence, shoulders touching.

"Hey, uh..." Sonny hesitates, looking down. "Thanks. For, um... defending me."

The anger turns over in L-14419's stomach, curdling into something else, something unfamiliar. _You should've been faster. You should've acted sooner. She wouldn't be hurt if you had. You could've protected her_. 

She doesn't say any of that. Instead, she simply says, "Anytime."

They sit next to each other like that until the lights go out, and then Sonny climbs up into the top bunk.

“Hey,” she says after she settles down, rolling over to lean over the edge of the top bunk, and L-14419 can’t help but give a little smile back.

“Yes?”

“Do you mind if I just call you L?”

L-14419 blinks. 

_L_. Just... _L_. Nothing else, just _L_. She rolls the letter around in her thoughts. It feels weird without the numbers following it--empty, open, hollow.

Freeing.

She _wants_. She’s not allowed, but she _wants_. 

“L,” she tries out, and then again, “L,” and it’s the look of hope on Sonny’s face that makes up her mind. 

“All right,” she says. “I can be L. I will be just L, for now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's probably not gonna be an update next Saturday, since I'll be spending the week setting up, monitoring, and collecting data from a remote field site and as such I won't have reliable internet access. Regular updates are planned to resume the following week. Thanks for understanding!


	6. Chapter 6

Sonny can't sleep.

She lies on her back, staring at the dark featureless ceiling of the cell. The itchy wool blanket is pushed down to the very edge of the thin mattress, as far away from her as she can get it. She's cold, sure, but the cell would have to get a whole lot colder for her to sleep with that thing on. It's just chilly now, just a dark chilly cube with two beds bolted to the wall, one over the other, and a small toilet and sink in the far corner, and nothing else at all but the two lost souls lying within it.

L is tossing and turning in the bottom bunk, letting out faint whimpers every so often. Her breathing is heavy and troubled, hitching in her chest, almost like sobs. Whatever nightmare she's having, it's locked on to her tight and it's not letting go.

An image stirs, vivid in Sonny's mind, of the blank look on L's face in the dining hall, how she'd stood there with blood on her hands and no emotion at all. Whatever she'd been through... Sonny doesn't think she's ever going to have a proper frame of reference for the hell that is thell training, but clearly something's messed her cellmate up enough that L relives it in her sleep. 

_Well, shit_ , she thinks, and rolls over to slide off the top bunk, wincing as she brushes her face with an arm. She drops to the floor quietly, then kneels on the edge of the bed and reaches out nervously to brush L's shoulder.

L jerks awake.

"Sofie?" she gasps out, terror splayed across her face, hand grabbing and tightening painfully around Sonny's wrist. A moment later, her eyes focus, and then she lurches forward, burying her face in the rough material of Sonny's shirt and sobbing.

_Oh fuck_. Sonny wraps her arms around L, trying to offer comfort. “Hey, hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” she murmurs soothingly, stroking L’s hair, “it was just a dream, it's over now, it's okay, you're okay." The words don't have much meaning in them, but she gets the feeling that just the sound of them is helping. There isn't really much else she can do.

Eventually, L’s sobs quiet, and then she slowly pulls back. She looks a mess, all red-rimmed eyes and salt-stained cheeks, but the awful terror that had been there when she’d woke is gone.

"You gonna be okay?" Sonny asks.

"I think so." L hesitates, then whispers, "Can you stay? For a bit?"

"Yeah, of course." Sonny nods and shifts them around so that they’re lying down, her head resting on L's shoulder, arm folded across the other girl's chest.

"Hey," she says, a few minutes later, "can I ask a question?"

"Yeah."

Sonny bites her lip, then says, "Who's Sofie?"

L frowns, staring at the wall. "I don't know," she says eventually. "Someone important. I can't remember who." A measure of sadness creeps into her voice. "But whoever it was, they must have meant a lot to the person I used to be."

“Alright,” Sonny says, and leaves it at that.

She’s just about on the edge of sleep when L tenses, her grip going painfully tight around Sonny’s hand. L sits up, fully alert, and Sonny nearly falls off the bed at the unexpected movement.

“Wha’ is it?” she mumbles, blinking.

“Shh.” L tilts her head slightly, intent and still for a long moment, and then her eyes narrow.

“There’s something below us.”

*** 

Em flattens herself against the bottom of Cell Block H and holds still for a moment, scanning the stream of Corroghod’s external sensor activity displayed on her faceplate's HUD. She’d disabled the proximity sensors and electric barrier system for this section of the prison's hull, hooking their readouts to a different section so as not to draw notice and looping the cameras inside, but given the sensitivity of Corroghod's systems there was no way to be entirely sure the systems wouldn't reset at exactly the wrong moment. But she's here now, pressed up against the hull and not getting her brains fried out, so her code must be holding.

She pulls up the scans of the prison's internal structure that they'd put together. The dot representing AD's deepsuit is nearly in place under the armory, on the far side of Corroghod. The systems over there are a little different, a little less sensitive, and Em finds it significantly easier to disable them and loop the readouts.

"Shrike Leader, you are go for entry," she murmurs.

"Copy," comes the hushed response.

Em nods and adjusts the scans to line up with the hull in front of her. She highlights Cell H-004 in blue against the standard orange scans and shimmies along the hull until she's directly underneath it, then unstraps the portable airlock from her back. It unfolds reluctantly and she has to struggle against the slight current to get it pressed flat against the hull directly underneath where the cell’s beds should be, but once she engages the seal, it holds fast. It hisses and bubbles faintly as it cycles, inflating and filling with water, and she quickly links it to her HUD, works its well-disguised code into the prison’s external sensors, and slides the outer door open.

Inside, it’s a small space, just two meters in length and less than a meter from door to door. The old claustrophobia rears its head as the outer door shuts behind her and cycles again, the draining water taking her buoyancy with it, and for a moment she just focuses on breathing, on her back against the solidness of the closed door below her, on her presence and the task at hand. Then she opens the inner door to expose the now-dry hull of Corroghod, pulls out her plasma cutter, activates her faceplate’s tinting, and gets to work.

*** 

“Below us?” Sonny whispers, pushing her way upright. One of her eyebrows is raised, both question and confusion.

L holds still, listening. She hadn’t been sure when the background electric hum, almost too soft to hear, had shut off, or when the faint bumping sound of something brushing against the hull had come, but the muffled hiss from beneath the floor had been too much to ignore. It’s come twice now, exactly fifteen seconds each time, entirely too consistent to be anything other than intentional.

She tilts her head at Sonny’s question. “Do you hear it?” 

“Hear what?”

“Something shut off. Then some bumps and hisses. Right underneath us—”

She cuts herself off as a low whine cuts through the room, echoing slightly in the stillness. The floor lights up with a striking orange glow, and L blinks as her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness.

“Okay, I hear _that_ ,” Sonny mutters, covering her own eyes as L rolls over to peer under the bed.

An arcing white-hot line is marching its way through the floor, so intense that L swears and flinches away, eyes watering. “Definitely someone down there,” she bites out.

“Think it’s the friends Kling and Tobin mentioned?” Sonny asks.

It’s a possibility, an optimistic one—but L has known for a while that optimism is a dangerous risk to take. One does not survive long as a thell-in-training without anticipating the worst possible outcome.

“We’ll find out,” she replies, and starts preparing for a fight.

*** 

The cutter slices through the last section of hull with a whirring click, and Em braces against it to keep it from falling. It's not as heavy as she'd thought a half-meter thick hunk of titanisteel would be, but she isn't in an ideal position for lifting, and she ends up having to get her feet on it and push with all four limbs to heave it up into the cell. She powers down the cutter and sticks it back in her tool belt as her faceplate's tinting recedes, then sits up and pokes her head through the hole--

There are two women staring right at her.

"Um, hi," Em says. It comes out mangled by the deepsuit's scrambler, deep and menacing, and she curses internally and unseals her faceplate, raising it as the woman with the bruised face flinches back. The other woman angles forward a bit, putting her shoulder in front of her cellmate, shifting into a protective crouch.

The silage marks standing out against her bare arms catch Em's attention, but so do her red-rimmed eyes.

Em smiles, the careful one she uses around full-humans that hides her fangs. "Sorry about that, forgot I had that thing running. Are you, uh," she glances at her gauntlet's holo display, "Emily Sonnett and L-14419?"

"Just L," the thell corrects with a glare.

Sonnett nods. "Yeah, that's us. Who're you?"

Em frowns a little and scents the air as unobtrusively as she can, keeping an eye on the two prisoners. The stench of fear intertwining with tension is thick, the type of apprehensive she'd been expecting. The layer of hope underneath (mostly from Sonnett) tangles with pain and weariness, and underneath that--a bone-deep mix of ache and anger, rolling off L in waves, low and faint and yet still intense enough to make Em’s eyes water.

“Emily Menges,” she says, blinking. It’s only her Standard name, not her _kaimaq_ , so there’s not much risk in sharing it. “I’m a friend of Kling and Tobin.”

L tilts her head. “You are... both... Emily?” she asks.

“Hey, name twin!” Sonnett grins, and then winces and raises a hand to her bruised face.

Oh, right--Kling had mentioned that, the mess hall fight and everything. Em unseals a pocket and pulls the little medpack she'd put together out, opening it and finding one of the biogel strips. "Here, these should help your whole, uh," she gestures to her own face, "situation."

"Oh, wow," Sonnett says, struggling with the strip for maybe two seconds before L takes over. "Is this real biogel?"

"Yeah. Uh, I would give you a brace or mask or something, but something like that would be too noticeable, so this and some pain pills will have to do."

"Still miles ahead of what I would've had otherwise," Sonnett mutters. Some of the gel gets in her mouth, and she gags and pulls a face. "Gods, that's horrible."

"It'll cut your recovery in half, it's worth the taste," Em says. Her comm pings in her ear as she finishes speaking, the timer she'd set to let her know when the safe window was nearly done, and she sighs. "Ah, I'm low on time, gotta get going soon. I'll swing by later with some supplies, alrighty?" She smiles, a full one this time--

Sonnett makes a very strange noise.

Em snaps her mouth shut, cursing internally once again. _Not supposed to show the fangs to people you've just met, dammit. It scares them._

"We'll be ready," L replies, either unfazed or oblivious; most likely the former. There's a look in her eyes, a strange mix of yearning-denial-determination, and Em remembers the low aching, angry scent that had rolled off L like oil--

It's half impulse and half a bone-deep feeling of _right_ that drives her to unhook her _selyuq_ from her belt and offer the blade to L. The thell takes it wordlessly, but her eyes go wide as her hands close around the hilt. Em can't tell if L can actually hear her _kaiyangi_ or if she's just reacting to the _selyuq_ 's aura, but she finds herself hoping for the latter. _Kaiyangi_ are incredibly personal; they aren't meant to be shared with other Kaitze, let alone with outsiders. If the Church’s fell magics let a thell hear them...

She tamps down the thought. “That’s special, all right? It won’t show up on scans or sensors, so as long as you keep it hidden, you should be good. Don’t lose it; I’m gonna want it back when you’re out of here.”

L nods, something approaching awe on her face. “I will be careful,” she whispers, not looking up from the knife.

"Good. Uh, get some sleep, keep things quiet. See you later, okay?" 

"Okay," Sonny squeaks, looking everywhere but at Em.

_Well, that's gonna be awkward._

"Goodnight, then," Em says, and pulls the piece of Corroghod's hull back into position. She closes the airlock and lets it cycle, swearing under her breath as the frigid water surrounds her once more, and then the outer doors open and she drops into the open ocean.

_Overall, it could've gone worse_ , she thinks, and begins the long swim back to the pod.

***

There's quiet for a few minutes after the chunk of floor slides back into place, and L spends all of those minutes staring at the knife in her hands. It's a beautiful knife, the blade glowing slightly and engraved with strange symbols, the sheath a shimmering hard fiber L's never seen before, and it feels almost warm in her hands. "She was nice," she says, thinking out loud.

"Yeah," Sonny responds, her voice a little muffled, and there's a strange note in it that makes L look up.

It's a little hard to see behind all the bruises, but L thinks Sonny's blushing. Her heartrate definitely sounds a little elevated, and she's staring down at the floor in what seems like embarrassment. 

"What is it?"

Sonny doesn't respond for a moment, blushing even harder so it's very visible on her less-bruised cheek. When she does speak, it's just a hair above a whisper. "She had fangs."

L frowns. Their visitor certainly had, but... "That bothers you?"

"No!" Sonny squeaks. "No, no, um. The opposite, really."

"It doesn't bother you."

"It definitely doesn't."

L thinks for a moment. "You like it?"

Somehow, Sonny blushes even harder. "It's... thought-provoking."

L is beginning to get the picture, but it's kind of fun to watch Sonny squirm like this. "What thoughts does it provoke?"

"It was hot, okay? It, um, kinda like how it was hot when you defended me, or when you, well. You." Sonny cuts herself off, hiding her face in her arms.

L blinks. _That_ is news. "You think I'm hot?" She doesn't know how to react to it.

"Um. Yeah? Is that... does it bother you?"

Now it's L's turn for the rapid-fire denial. "No. No? No, I..." she frowns. "I'm realizing there's a lot I'm not--I wasn't--allowed to feel. How do you know when someone is hot?"

"Um. Well. If you want to kiss them...?"

L tilts her head, deliberating. "You are hot, then," she says.

Sonny sputters, wide-eyed.

L laughs. "Or at least you will be when your face isn't covered in biogel."

"Ah--all right, that's fair." Sonny shrugs. "I wouldn't wanna kiss me right now either." She's still looking at L like she can't believe what she's just heard, and L is surprised by the way it makes her chest feel warm--but that's something to examine later, she decides.

"Come on, we need some real sleep," she says, and nudges Sonny back toward the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Things are beginning to come together...


	7. Chapter 7

AD gets back to the pod a solid four hours after Em, tugging a sealed crate along behind her with an improvised carbicord harness. She's clearly exhausted, just floating there as Em undoes the harness and wrangles both her friend and the crate into the airlock. 

"You could've commed me," she says as she helps AD over to the berths, tucked into the wall on the far end of the pod.

"Did just fine," AD mumbles. "Got it all back here."

"Yeah, but now you’re all worn out. That’s a four klick swim with, what,” Em eyes the crate still sitting in the airlock, “two hundred extra pounds of resistance?”

“Mhm.” AD unhooks one of her waterproof belt pouches without opening her eyes and hands it over. “ _Zeye’ni_ ,” she says, switching over to Nusai, a note of smugness creeping into her weary voice. _A gift for you._

Em opens the pouch and blinks as the smell of fresh meat hits her nose. Inside, in a clear bioplast wrapping, is—

“ _Hechet'e_?” Yep, definitely a _hechet_ steak—sirloin by the looks of it. Somewhere, an Imperial officer will be missing his dinner. “ _Aah, teqiin’hu kaaje_.” _You shouldn’t have_.

AD grins, opening one eye just a little. “ _Maklu sasuuriyatze._ ” _You get tired of the vitamin tabs._

This is very true: they’d only been able to get plant-based rations for this mission, so Em’s had to take supplements to keep herself healthy, and the vitamin tabs are some of the most foul-tasting things she’s ever had to eat. It’s a complaint AD’s heard countless times, one she’s teased Em about for years, one she knows like the back of her own hand. _Damn carnivorous dietary requirements._

Em swallows, a sudden knot in her throat. “ _Tiulta_.” _Thank you_. 

AD nods. “ _Eihlai, ane’ji_.” _Of course, little sister._ Her eye drifts closed again.

They stay there in silence for a few minutes.

“You still should’ve commed me,” Em says, switching back to Standard—that’s what mission talk happens in. But she doesn’t get an answer, and when she looks over, AD’s gone to sleep on her bedroll, one leg draped off the side of the berth, still in most of the damn deepsuit.

Em sighs. “ _Sayuuqe_ ,” she mutters fondly, draping the spare blanket they'd brought over AD, before going to put the _hechet_ steak in the pod’s cold storage--she'll save it for later, a treat when the mission's done.. Then she wrestles the crate AD had brought through the airlock doors and into the pod proper, and opens it to reveal the collection of stolen Imperial weaponry within.

A kilometer above, on the surface, the sun is rising. For once, the rain has paused, and the first rays of morning light are glinting brilliantly off the eerily calm water. It's the first night Kling's missed a check-in since they'd started the mission. 

Em swallows down her fear, settles herself on the floor, and begins sorting.

***

"So where are you from?"

Kling startles, jumping at the suddenness of the question against the darkness. "Fuck!" she whispers, rolling over to peer over the edge of the bunk, "give a girl a heart attack, why don't you? What if I'd been sleeping?!"

Somewhere below her, Sinc snorts. Kling can't see her, but from the creaking of the bunk, it sounds like she just sat up. "You weren't. You snore when you sleep."

Kling is going to choose to ignore that. "Where I'm from, huh? Why the sudden curiosity?"

“Because I’m curious. It’s been two days, and we’ve barely spoken. Half that time we’ve been alone, even, but all I know about you is that you’re Legion and you want out of here. ‘Kling’ doesn’t even sound like a full name.”

“Neither does ‘Sinc’—”

“Christine Sinclair.”

“Huh. Okay,” Kling mulls it over for a moment. “Um, Meghan Klingenberg.”

“You don’t seem very sure of that,” Sinc says, but it sounds teasing. “Where are you from?”

“Hye’vali.”

“Really? How’s a Core girl end up with the Legion?”

It’s kind of awkward to talk like this while lying down, so Kling sits up, leaning back against the cell’s wall. “Same way as anyone else—by joining up.” She shrugs, even though she knows Sinc can’t see her. “I ran away from the EPPMA-OT.”

She can hear the breath Sinc sucks in at that. The Eyjavian Prime Pre-Military Academy (Officer-Track) is well-known throughout the Empire—the most prestigious and competitive educational track at the most highly regarded school, training the children of Planetary Governors, Sector Consuls, and other Imperial elites for careers in the higher ranks of the Eyjavian military machine. To get into it is hard enough. To run away from it?

Nearly unthinkable.

Sinc’s quieter when she speaks again, more serious. “Unless I missed something, the Hye’vali governor has never been named ‘Klingenberg’.”

It’s Kling’s turn to snort. “And if he was, I wouldn’t be going around using that name. But the Hye’vali governor is also infertile, so he had to find a suitable heir... elsewhere.” She shrugs again, her voice turning bitter. “After all, no one on Hye’vali’s gonna notice two dead refugees or their missing infant daughter.”

“That’s... I’m sorry,” Sinc says.

Kling frowns. “Don’t. I... I still had it so much better than so many others. Fourteen years of being fucking _royalty_.” She laughs, short and harsh. “Well. Anyway. That’s where I’m coming from. What about you?”

Sinc pauses for a moment. “Ever been to Cyne?”

“A couple times, yeah.”

“Ever seen the scrapyards there?”

“From a distance.”

“There are worse places to grow up. But it... still wasn’t a good one.”

Kling nods. Scrapyards across the galaxy use kids to get into the small, delicate crawlspaces in ship engines; not all of those kids make it back out. “So you talked your way onto a League ship out of there?”

Sinc huffs. “More like they talked me on. Mitchell—he was our first engineer—he came looking around for some spare scandorite alloy wiring, and I’d just scrapped a bunch, and... well, he was also looking for an apprentice, and he said I showed promise. Then Ketchy—she was the pilot—she got one good look at little thirteen year old me and told Aale—the captain—point-blank that I was crew now, that she was adopting me and there was nothing to be done about it.” Her voice is soft, fond with an undercurrent of sadness, and Kling remembers: 

_The Imps caught up, and... I’m the only one who made it._

“What was the ship’s name?” she asks.

“ _Pineflower_.” Sinc gives a little laugh, her voice getting thick. “Aale was Kaitze, from Alaasri, and sentimental as hell.”

_Oh_.

Kling has seen the _muuliyatzai_ —the flowering pines of Alaasri—enough to know their beauty well. She closes her eyes and murmurs one of the few Nusai phrases she knows— _Kaiyasang’yutke_ , the prayer for the dead. “ _Nais’eh ya’kaajel, ehu ya’tinuu ya’hesang ne aselya ariq mu’se u kailii’se_.” _May we honor their hearts; may they grow and rest until they return to hunt with us or the stars._

From below, she hears the sound of a faint sniffle.

Time passes, and the silence stretches out, hanging in the dark cell like the ever-present clouds over Corroghod’s surface.

“Y’know,” Kling says eventually, “we could use a good mechanic.”

“You don’t have one already?”

“It’s a high-risk job. We _are_ spec-ops, after all.”

“I’ll keep that in mind—”

The cell’s light snaps on, and Kling yelps and covers her eyes against the sudden blinding brightness. The door slides open, and when she peeks through her fingers, she can just barely make out the silhouette of several guards in the doorway.

“You,” one of them barks, pointing at Sinc. He’s dressed differently than the others, no saniplastine armor over a bodysuit, a crisp white uniform jacket with silver trim taking its place, and the blue-and-yellow barring pinned to his sleeve marks him as a junior lieutenant in the Imperial Navy. “Up. Now.”

Sinc sighs, heavy and put-upon. “What if I don’t want to?”

In an instant, there are three blasters trained on the bottom bunk, and another pointing at Kling. She quickly puts her hands up.

“Don’t care,” the officer snarls as two of the guards march into the cell. “Up. Or we’ll make you.”

“All right, all right,” Sinc says, standing. As soon as she’s on her feet, a guard yanks her arms behind her back and snaps a pair of mag-cuffs around her wrists. 

“Move it,” the officer snaps, and the guard who’d cuffed Sinc gives her a shove to get her moving, marching her out of the cell without a backward look. The door shuts, the lights blink off, and Kling is left alone to the darkness.

_Well, fuck._

***

“You could’ve told me your friend was a hybrid,” Sonny hisses as she drops down into the seat next to Kling at breakfast the next morning, her tray clanging on the mess hall’s long table.

Kling gives her a hard look. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Oh no, that had come out wrong. “No, no," Sonny denies hurriedly, looking down at her tray. She shouldn't have said anything, damn it, she's blushing again. "Uh, not in that sense, at least."

"In what sense, then?"

_Fuck_. "None! Nothing, no problems, um, fangs definitely aren't sexy at all. Uh, on a completely unrelated note, is she single?"

"Single?" Kling blinks, eyebrows shooting up, and then half a second later the dots connect and she bursts into raucous laughter.

"Hey!" Sonny protests instinctively. She wants to say it's not funny, but it really is--they're trying to break out of prison, and she's getting sidetracked by dating prospects. Between this morning's question and last night's confession to L...

She groans and buries her face in her hands. "I need to be stopped."

To make matters worse, the others have started arriving to witness her shame. Andi and Sam are looking towards them from the serving line, and Tobin's on her way over with a full tray.

"What's so funny?" Tobin asks as she sits down across from them.

"Sonny's an alienfucker!" Kling whispers gleefully, dodging the chunk of _yagger_ peel Sonny throws at her. "She think's Em's fangs are _hot_!"

Tobin looks at her with something like amazement on her face. "What, the one Consul's mistress wasn't enough?"

"That's not--I--it's--different..." Sonny trails off. She can't explain something she doesn't have an explanation for in the first place. 

"Huh," Tobin says, cracking a smile, "and here I thought you'd gotten a little something going with our ex-Imp friend."

Sonny’s still blushing, but she can’t help grin sheepishly at that. "Well. Um, maybe?" 

“Oh?” Kling raises an eyebrow, still snickering.

“Well, um, I think L and I are probably a package deal anyways now.” Sonny looks down at the table. “Like, even if we never, like, date or anything... she needs me. I won’t leave her.”

She’s a little surprised by how strong the last sentence comes out, how right it feels. But it’s true. 

She won’t leave L.

The others arrive then, Rose and Mal and Sam and Andi having an animated discussion about... dreams, it sounds like, as they sit down on Sonny's other side.

“Where is L, for that matter?” Tobin asks.

Sonny grimaces (and is secretly pleased by how little it hurts; biogel is a miracle). “Guards didn’t let her out. Made sure only I left the cell this morning.”

Next to her, Kling frowns, finally abandoning her laughter. “Huh. I don’t like that. They...” she trails off, shakes her head a little. “The guards were busy last night.”

"What d'you mean?" Mal asks, leaning over toward them, at the same time that Sonny realizes--

"Where's Sinc?"

It's Kling's turn to grimace. "No idea. Naval officer showed up last night with a bunch of guards and took her away, probably around... like, two or so. They weren't messing around. I stayed up all night but... nothing."

Tobin frowns. "Yeah, I don't like the sound of that either."

"We could stand to be a bit more subtle going forward," Sam cuts in. Sonny's a little surprised; she hasn't really heard the tall girl speak much in their meal-time meetings. "Sitting together all like this isn't exactly gonna go unnoticed."

"Well, yeah," Sonny shrugs, "but it's the time we've got. Besides, it'll look weird if we switch it up now--"

She's interrupted by a long, loud tone blaring from the speakers around the mess hall's edge, and all around her people simultaneously swear and start shoveling what's left of their meals into their mouths. Sonny follows suit; that must be the signal to end breakfast, and even if the food tastes awful she's still pretty hungry.

After breakfast, the prisoners are rushed to a large room--half taken up by showers, half by rows of lockers. There are two in the far corner with H-004 on the screen over them, and as she approaches, one of the screens lights up with her name. There's several other rows of information on it, but it's all in Imperial Standard, and Sonny's Ellechian and Yanten upbringing hadn't involved a lot of Imperial legal documents; she can read Galactic Standard and Ruome (which is usually written with the Standard script), but Imperial Standard is for the most part a mystery to her. 

Sam and Andi are at lockers somewhat nearby, so she asks them about it.

"It's the work schedule for the day--like how I have textile manufacture, and Sam's got aquaponics." Andi peers at the screen. "Looks like you've been assigned to... waste management."

"Ah, shit."

Sam snorts, a bit of a rueful look on her face. "Yup. You'll be looking at a whole lot of shit."

Waste management is exactly as awful as Sonny is expecting, and by the time the twelve hour shift is over, she's covered in sweat and grime and gods-only-knows what else, aching from head to toe and only wanting to sleep. The short shower is freezing (exactly the same temperature as the ocean outside, she suspects) and while it does successfully clean her off and also wake her up somewhat, it doesn't do anything to help the way her back seizes when she tries to stand up straight.

"Well, now I understand why dinner's so late," she whispers to Sam as they shuffle into the mess hall.

"Just be grateful it's an even month," Sam whispers back. "On odd months, Block H is on night shifts."

" _Night_ shifts?!"

"Unfortunately, yes."

The prospect of a whole month of night shifts is enough to keep Sonny subdued through the whole meal, and she's almost asleep on her feet by the time she makes it back to Cell H-004. The door unlocks and slides open as she approaches (the cameras, she realizes belatedly), and she barely makes it inside before walking into a solid wall of woman.

L wrinkles her nose. "You stink," she says, but she still wraps her arms around Sonny and lets her slump against her.

"I showered," Sonny mumbles. "It could be worse."

L sighs. "Not like you can smell it anyway," she huffs as she moves them over to the bed. 

"Is that because your senses are better, or because my nose is broken?"

"It's looking better," L protests.

"That's not an answer," Sonny grins and ducks to press her forehead against L's shoulder. Her nose barely even hurts.

L sighs again, but when Sonny looks up, she's smiling too. "Bed," she says, and sits down, pulling Sonny with her, "now," and--

Well, Sonny has no reason to resist, but she's probably too exhausted to try anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Nusai phrases within have been translated to best preserve intended meaning; this means they are not word-for-word translations. When Em and AD are speaking to each other, they use a much less formal form of Nusai than the one used in the Kaiyasang'yutke Kling recites. I chose not to translate "sayuuqe" in the text of the chapter itself, since it was only one word and I couldn't figure out a concise translation that fully captured its meaning; it's a friendly insult, used only for people you're on good terms with, that implies some form of minor stupidity (typically involving a lack of foresight or some consequence one brought on oneself). If anyone would like word-for-word translations of the Nusai phrases, feel free to ask me.
> 
> Also, I wasn't originally intending for Menges to work her way into Sonny and L's budding relationship, but the story has decided differently. Apparently sci-fi Sonny is really into those fangs.
> 
> Also also! College is shifting into midterm mode now, so I may not be able to get a chapter up next weekend--I'll certainly try, but school has to come first. Just letting yinz know!


	8. Chapter 8

When the door to Cell H-104 slides open, the first thing Kling notices is that Sinc is back. The second thing she notices is that something is very clearly wrong. Sinc is sitting on the bottom bunk, back ramrod straight, perfectly still, and she doesn’t react at all to the sound of the door.

Kling frowns and moves closer, and it becomes clear that “perfectly still” is inaccurate. Sinc is trembling all over, full body shakes that make the bunk creak slightly, her breathing is unsteady, and though her eyes are wide open, her pupils are constricted to tiny pinpoints.

“What’s going on?” Kling asks, reaching out to put a hand on Sinc’s shoulder—

Sinc _shrieks_ , jerking away and folding in on herself, convulsing several times before she manages to force herself back into the frozen upright seated position she’d been in. She’s breathing hard, a hint of a sob in there, and a sheen of sweat covers her skin.

“SP... TM,” she hisses out.

_Oh fuck_.

Kling steps back hurriedly and lets out a few choice swears. Sodium parathiamenzucin is one of the Imperial Intelligence chemists’ more notorious concoctions, inducing excruciating pain on movement or contact. It’s a torture drug, paired with the promise of an antidote to extract information from the victim, and it often takes days to fully clear the effects even with said antidote. 

“How long ago did you get back?” she asks.

“...noon,” Sinc forces out, and then, “...thirsty.”

There’s a cup sitting by the sink that hadn’t been there that morning. Kling fills it and brings it over, holding it up for Sinc since her cellmate’s hands are shaking too much to not spill the water. Sinc drains the cup, and Kling refills it—once, twice, and then finally after the third time something around Sinc’s eyes relaxes and she gives a tiny nod. “Thanks.”

“How much did they give you?”

Sinc turns her head just a little, enough to make eye contact, an unnerving hint of a smile creeping onto her face. “Not... enough.”

“Well, yeah, apparently, but I mean in numbers.”

“Twenty milligrams.” 

Kling stares. “What the _fuck_?!” That’s over _twice_ the average lethal dose. How the hell is Sinc still conscious, let alone coherent?

“They got... scared, too.”

“As they should!” Fuck, she’s not handling this well. “Hey, uh, I’m gonna check in with my buddies now, see if they have any advice, alright?”

“Go ahead,” Sinc says, and then, “is one... a medic?” She's sounding a little better, a little less strained.

“Uh, not fully. AD has some training, though. I’ll see what she says.” Kling activates her comm and sends the signal, and it only takes a few seconds before someone picks up. 

"Hey," AD says, sounding like she just woke up. "Uh, Em's out right now making a delivery. What's up?"

Kling slips the comm out of her ear and engages the speaker so Sinc can hear it too. “We’re having a bit of a situation here.”

“What kind of situation?” AD asks, instantly sounding more awake.

“Imps tried to squeeze info out of Sinc last night. Gave her twenty milligrams SPTM.”

There’s a pause, and then AD says, “I’m sorry, how much?”

“You heard right. Twenty whole milligrams.”

“ _And_ I’m... still alive,” Sinc chimes in, a wry note in her rough voice.

AD lets out a somewhat shocked laugh. "Congrats. You really shouldn't be!" 

"We're aware, and we'd like to keep her that way."

“Okay, shit, okay,” AD says under her breath, and then louder, “uh, keep hydrated. That’s gonna be the big one, it’ll help minimize the spasms and neutralize it quicker. Don’t know how long it’ll take to clear with such a megadose, but... oh, yeah, keep an eye out for liver and kidney issues afterwards. They’re probably pretty strained right now.”

Sinc nods, a tiny movement. “If I turn yellow... worry. Got it.”

"Pretty much."

"Anything else?" Kling asks. 

"That's what I've got for now. You have anything to report?"

Kling thinks for a moment. "Other than this? Uh... they're not letting L out of her cell, but everyone else seems fine. Sonny appreciates the biogel and asked if Em's single."

"The Imps didn't ask me... anything about our little group," Sinc adds, stopping for a pained breath halfway through. 

"Well, that's good," AD says, and then, "give Sonny the shovel talk. And stay safe, alright?"

"We'll try," Kling laughs dryly, and cuts the connection.

*** 

Rose wakes up screaming.

Logically, she knows where she is. She can hear Mal next to her, holding her tight and talking gently in her ear. The lumpy mattress underneath her is digging into her back, the rough blanket itching her legs, the titanisteel wall cold against her side, and the room should be dark, should be nearly too black to see anything--

The flashes of blaster fire dance across her vision.

"I'm here," she rasps out, "I hear you."

"Thank the gods," Mal says. "Nightmare?"

Rose shakes her head, blinking furiously, trying to dislodge the sight of gunfire from her eyes. "The other kind."

She hadn't realized, when the visions had first started happening. She'd written them off as bad dreams at first, nightmares where she watched her old squadmates go down under blood and flame. It had been Mal who'd pieced it together, who'd figured out that if Rose saw your fighter gone, the next mission would be your last. 

"What was it?"

She doesn't want to say it, but the words come anyway, dragged out of her like fish on a hook. "Sonny. Arc grenade. No pulse." A pause, and then the last of the vision crawls out. "Not here."

There's silence for a moment, thick and heavy in the dark room as Rose's sight finally clears. 

"Hey, if it's not here, then she at least makes it out," Mal says eventually. 

Rose nods. _Focus on the good bits_. "Maybe we do too."

"And you just saw her take an arc grenade? Nothing else?"

"Yeah. I mean, there was fighting going on, but..."

"Well, people _can_ sometimes be resuscitated from electrocution."

That had been the second part Mal had figured out: that while Rose's visions always happened eventually, they didn't always show the whole truth. They were inevitable, but there were ways to lessen the blow, to keep from catastrophizing.

Rose laughs shakily. "Better start carrying a defibrillator then." She's been crying, she realizes, and rolls over to bury her face in Mal's shoulder, letting the full-body contact slow her still-racing heart.

"Hey, that's wet," Mal protests, but there's no heat behind it.

"You don't mind."

"No, I don't," Mal sighs and presses a kiss to her forehead. "Get some sleep," she whispers. "There's no need to worry. I'm here."

And eventually, Rose does.

***

This time around, it's L who can't sleep. She lies in the bunk with Sonny tucked against her, listening to her cellmate-- _friend_ \-- snore softly, and she thinks.

She's spent the whole day thinking, sorting through the catalog of information in her head. So much of it is stuff the Church put in there, ideas and barriers buried so deep she's certain she can't have found it all. Some, she can tell how wrong they are just by how they feel, now that she's thinking with her own mind again, and others still feel right, but there's so much she can't be sure of. There's so much missing, and she doesn't know how to fill it in.

The only proper conclusion, she decides, is that she cannot fully trust herself.

When the telltale hiss of the airlock below comes, L carefully extracts herself from Sonny's grip and eases off the bed, settling quietly on the floor, watching as the chunk of hull is slowly lifted out of place once more.

Em makes a face as she unseals her faceplate. "Wow, someone's had a nasty day."

L holds back a snicker. "Sonny was on waste management duty today. She's sleeping it off now," she whispers.

"Oh, _yuck_." Em gags.

"Sorry she's not up to meet you."

"No, that's fine. I think I scared her a little last time."

L frowns. "Why would you think that?"

"Well, um," Em bites her lip, "she got all weird after she saw my fangs--"

"Oh, that? She thinks they're hot."

Em's eyebrows shoot up. "Oh. Huh. I... huh." She stands there for a moment, an interesting look on her face, and then shakes her head. 

"Not the point right now," she mutters, grabbing something at her feet and setting it on the cell's floor. It's a sack of some kind, slick and waterproof, clinking quietly as Em opens its seals and pulls out a CE-245 handblaster. 

"Got you a present," she grins.

The Imperial insignia is clearly marked on the side of the blaster's barrel, and it appears to be standard issue. L takes it and quickly checks the slide, trigger, and relay--perfect working order. 

"Got a few more of those and some other toys," Em says, pulling another CE-245 and a pair of power packs out of the sack. "The 245s can probably be passed out, they're small enough, and we can hide the bigger stuff in the floor." She gestures to the edge of the hole she's standing in, and L leans over to see that there's quite a bit of open space between the general pipes and wiring that runs through Corroghod's half-meter thick wall. Em sets the sack in one of those spaces, and though it takes up that nook, there's still plenty of others to fill.

"Thank you," L murmurs, gripping the 245 tight. 

"No problem," Em says, and glances at her wrist display. "Well, unless you've got something, that's it for tonight," she continues, and L is reminded of her earlier thoughts.

"Would you be willing to answer some questions for me?" she asks.

Em hesitates, then nods, resting her elbows on the edge of the hole. "Go ahead."

Might as well go all in and start with the most possibly offensive one. "What is the proper way to call people like you? I've only heard... 'mongrel', and that seems rude."

She doesn't miss the way Em winces a little at the word.

"We prefer 'hybrid', mostly," the other girl says quietly, looking down a little. "It's more polite."

"Hybrid." L rolls the word around in her mouth, making a mental note. "Okay. And you are part human, part kaitze?"

Em flashes her a smile, her fangs pointedly exposed. "Oh dear, I wonder what gave it away."

L laughs, then covers her mouth and glances at the bed--but Sonny's still fast asleep, so she turns back to Em and asks her next question. "What are Kaitze like? I've only heard what the Church said, but..."

"Well, we don't engage in cannibalism, so jot that down," Em snorts, then gets serious. "That's... a very broad question. There's a lot of different ways I could answer, so, uh... what exactly do you want to know?"

"Kaitze are carnivorous?"

"Yeah."

"Are you?"

"Technically, yes."

"Okay. Do Kaitze really do blood magic?"

Em blinks, surprise flitting across her face. “People really think that?”

“The Church said so. I thought it sounded weird.”

“Well, we definitely _don’t_. If anything... um, your silage marks are closer to blood magic than anything we’d do.”

“Okay. No baby-eating?”

“I already said we don’t do cannibalism.”

L looks down, the taste of shame rising in her throat. “Sorry, I’m just... they told a lot of lies,” she mutters.

Em sighs. “It’s okay,” she says, “you’re trying.”

Something about the weary way she says that makes L’s chest tighten, and suddenly the words are spilling out, a torrent she can’t stop. “They call Kaitze monsters, and vicious, and violent, lesser, demons. They say Kaitze are evil, fighting against the the Emperor’s right and will, trying to tear the galaxy to pieces. But—but you aren’t, you,” she reaches down to the outside of her thigh, where she’d hidden the borrowed knife, “you’re nice, you let me ask questions, you look me in the eyes when so few do and they also told me I wasn’t a person and couldn’t have a name and they’re wrong, it’s all wrong and _what else did they lie about_ —”

The words run out as suddenly as they’d started, melting into a toneless keen ripped from somewhere deep inside her. She shakes, rocking back and forth, vision blurring, and there are arms around her, voices in her ears, but she can’t make out what they’re saying. She screws up her eyes, the panic rising up, and then she's gone.

(-- _you were made to serve the Church, an extension of the Emperor's will_ \--)

(-- _it hurts, I don't, I wanna go home_ \--)

(-- _the marks are a gift! A sign of favor! You were chosen, you should be honored_ \--)

(-- _there is no self, there is only the Duty_ \--)

(-- _for Jaarka's sake, will you shut up and listen to me_ \--)

(-- _it's okay, you're trying_ \--)

(-- _I will be L, for now_ \--)

(-- _for now._ )

She comes back to herself eventually, her ragged breathing steadying. Sonny's sitting beside her, arms wrapped around her in a tight hug, head resting on her shoulder. On her other side, Em is leaning against her, just a slight amount of contact, singing a low soothing chant over and over in a language L doesn't know.

“ _Ya’hesei, ya’laame, kir’aji, tzayu_  
 _Nu’ye kerangasi ha selya tleimu  
_ _Te seley dey’nu ni dey’jami lii’nu  
_ _A y_ _a’hesei, ya’laame, kir’aji, tzayu._ ”

She fades off as L shifts, and Sonny's hug tightens into a squeeze before releasing. 

"Sorry," L mutters, glancing at Sonny out of the corner of her eye, "I didn't want to wake you."

Sonny shakes her head. "You don't have to apologize. You didn't do anything wrong."

"But I should be stronger than this--"

"You are _not_ weak," Em hisses, twisting to grab one of L's hands and pressing it tight between her palms, voice fiercer than L's ever heard from her.

"I--"

"No. Something horrible was done to you, but you're more than just that. You're surviving, you're fighting back, you're making your own choices. _That_ takes strength."

There's a beat of silence.

"She's right, you know," Sonny says, resting a grounding hand on L's shoulder.

L blinks. She doesn't feel very strong right now, but... well, she already knows that her judgement can't be trusted. Maybe this is one of those cases.

"I am... not weak," she tries out. It doesn't sound true, but it seems to make her companions happy. Sonny smiles and reaches up to ruffle her hair.

"Of course not, _sayuuq'aji,_ " Em says, her voice back to its usual lightness.

L blinks. "What does that mean?"

Em blushes a light orange and pulls away. "Don't worry about it," she says. "Um, I should go, I've stayed too long already."

L narrows her eyes at that, but doesn't protest, storing the dodged question away for another time. She meets Sonny's gaze, and her cellmate raises an inquisitive eyebrow, but doesn't say anything either.

Em slips under the bed and back into the hole in the floor, then turns back to L. "Hey, I could, uh, come back tomorrow night and try to, like, teach you some stuff if you want? You don't have to if you're not comfortable with it," she adds hurriedly, "but--"

"I think I'd like that."

"Oh? Great! Um, see you then, I guess?"

"Bye," Sonny says, and, "stay safe."

"I should be telling you that," Em laughs, and then slides the hole shut.

L sits there, closing her eyes and listening as the airlock cycles below, and then looks up as Sonny stands.

"You gonna be okay?" Sonny asks, pulling L to her feet.

L nods. "Yeah."

"Then it's--" Sonny cuts herself off with a yawn, "it's sleepy-time." She nudges L toward the bed, and L doesn't resist. She goes to sleep that night with Sonny's head on her shoulder and the memory of a soft rolling chant echoing in her ears.

***

Time passes, and the days roll by, settling into a routine. Sonny shuffles from waste management to water treatment to aquaponics and on, coming back every evening almost too tired to stand. She's assigned to textile manufacture exactly once and manages to poke holes in her fingers and bleed all over the processed seaweed fabric, and after that the assignments stay solidly in the physical labor realm. The food is just as awful as ever, but she chokes it down anyway and slips her co-conspirators weapons and tools and explosives under the table when she's not chewing. Sometimes she's awake when Em visits, chimes in on the education L's getting, helps hide the newest delivery, but she's usually too tired to stay up for that. It's a dull sort of rhythm, mostly, a tedious monotony, and Sonny is almost used to it--

And then one night, when she gets back from dinner, L is gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger! Who am I kidding, I'm not sorry at all :D Hope yinz enjoyed!
> 
> Again, it's still midterms season so I can't guarantee an update for next weekend; however, considering that I managed to get one for this weekend out, the odds are looking pretty good.
> 
> The chant Em sings is a variation on a traditional Kaitze lullaby, Ya'hesei. There are many different variations, all containing the same basic theme; Em, being Sikaate Kaitze and from Alaasri, knows the Alaasri Laaqun variation. Roughly translated, it goes: 
> 
> "Sleep and dream in peace, child  
> The hunt will be waiting for you tomorrow  
> But you can’t hunt if you can’t stay awake  
> So sleep and dream in peace, child."


	9. Chapter 9

The room L is led to is small, the walls a brilliant stark white, featureless and barren. It's somewhere in the bowels of Corroghod, well away from cell block H, if she had to guess--she'd been blindfolded on the way over, but the trip had definitely involved a pod ride. The guards hadn't let her see again until she was seated and cuffed in the room's sole chair, a hard straight-backed titanisteel seat bolted solidly to the floor. Now, she's alone, and she takes the time to close her eyes and... well, she doesn't know if any gods would hear her, but she might as well, just in case.

She's all too used to praying to Eyjana, but she doesn't want to do that now... or ever again, really. Eyjana and the Church have betrayed her, and she will not crawl back to them, even in fear. So instead she thinks of some of the other gods she's heard of: Jaarka, the farmer who Sonny swears by, and Djeiru, the reaper who Sonny fears—and she thinks of the ones Em's been telling her about nightly: Seleyerakte, the Hunter... Na'ajequuni, the Warring Flame... Kisaayekuyla, Dancer in the Void... and Tlakaingu, Star-Thief, Dusk-Walker, Seeder of Souls.

Those are far more worthy of her prayers than Eyjana, she decides.

The door slides open behind her, and she shoves all thoughts of other gods from her head as someone enters the room.

"Well, well, well," a familiar voice says, "what do we have here?"

L almost gasps, but she manages to hold herself still, showing as little reaction as she can. _It can't be_ , she thinks--

R-44263 rounds into L's field of view, and it's all she can do not to flinch. Even with that, some of her thoughts must show, because his eyes sharpen on her like a hawk.

"Thell designation L-14419," he says softly, shaking his head slightly. "What have you done to yourself?"

L stays quiet, even though she wants to snap back a bitter response. She knows from experience just how much more that can make things hurt.

"You were chosen," R-44263 continues, pacing around her in a deliberate, menacing circle. "You were graced with the chance to complete the Duty, to extend the Emperor's will. You were gifted and marked and trained and reborn, and you showed... so much promise." He's stopped to the side of her, reaching a hand down and resting it on her shoulder. "So much promise," he repeats, trailing a finger up the side of her neck, and L shivers a little before catching herself and forcing stillness once more.

"Ah," R-44263 draws away, "you were... truly a student to be proud of, once. I was glad to have trained you. You were my _honor_. And... yet." He kneels down in front of her, making eye contact. "And yet. Look where you are now. A traitor, a madwoman, a disgrace. Tell me, where did we go wrong?"

L bites her lip, staying silent.

"What, no answer?"

That's as much of a license to speak as she's going to get. "Not one that would satisfy you."

“It doesn’t need to satisfy me,” R-44236 drawls. He puts an hand on her knee and taps his fingers, slow and deliberate. “It just needs to satisfy the Church. What are your cellmate and her friends planning?”

A spike of dread shoots through her stomach, and she grits her teeth. _Fuck. They know_.

R-44236 tilts his head, eyeing her contemplatively. "If you tell me, I can influence the Church to be merciful." He sighs. "This is a chance, L-14419. You are being offered a return, an open palm, an opportunity to embrace your twice-born gift. It would pain me greatly to see you refuse. What are they planning?"

“None of your business.”

R-44263 frowns, and then--abruptly, jarringly--slides into a familiar grin, sleek and predatory. "Well, then... I suppose I'll just have to take a look for myself." His silage marks glow, a split-second flash, and that's all the warning L gets before--

She feels him slam into her mental defenses with such strength that it sends a wave of nausea through her. Her defenses are strong, but it was R-44236 who taught her to construct them--three months ago and he would've been through them in a heartbeat. But since then she has torn her own head apart and rebuilt it from the ground up, and R-44236 does not know these paths, does not know the chinks in these walls, and so he is left pushing pushing pushing and it hurts, it hurts so bad as everything buckles and screams and the pressure builds builds builds with nowhere to go--

Something shatters.

Something...

The world comes back into focus slowly, and L finds herself slumped forward in the chair, shoulders aching from straining against the cuffs. There's a trickle of blood running down from her nose, tacky as it dries, but even though her head feels compressed and twisted in all the wrong ways, there's none of the disorientation she was fearing. She is still L, still numberless, still held together somehow. R-44236 is sprawled out on the floor, his face screwed up in pain, several of his marks flickering a sickly dark glow. He staggers to his feet and shoots her an angry glare, his sleek mask cracking just enough for an ounce of fear to show through, and then he stalks out of view toward the door.

"There's no point," he snarls to whoever's waiting there as the door slides open, "she's a lost cause, tainted by foreign witchcraft. Schedule for decommissioning pending Church approval--"

The door shuts behind him, but L's heard enough to make her freeze, her blood running cold.

Decommissioning.

_Fuck_.

***

What L doesn't know is that in Cell H-004, her disappearance has caused quite a lot of concern.

"She wasn't here when you got back tonight?"

Sonny halts her pacing for a second. "No, she's just... gone. They must've taken her somewhere."

Em looks up from her datapad, perched on the edge of the hole in the floor. "Nothing's changed in her file. No internal messages in the prison systems mentioning her, nothing in the guard chats..." She squints at the pad. "...hold on."

"What? Did you find something?"

"The western hangar door opened for four minutes and thirteen seconds beginning at 4:27 this evening. No ships are logged as having arrived or departed at that time, but..." Em frowns and taps at the datapad for a few seconds, then pulls up a security holorecording. "Roeschet-class officer transport, no ID or markings besides the Imperial insignia." She looks up. "Unmarked Roeschet-class vessels are associated with Imperial Intelligence, and especially the thell program."

Sonny stops, feeling like she's just had a bucket of icewater dumped over her. "The thell program? Shit, are they trying to, like, take her or something?" 

"We don't know." Em focuses on the datapad once more. "We can't even be sure it's any sort of official in the program. All we know is that they're here, and it's off record."

Oh, Sonny really doesn't like that. "So whoever it is, they don't want someone finding out--

She's cut off as Em's comm beeps, a sharp alarm cutting through the stillness. Em glances at it, then swears and ducks back into the hole in the floor. "Someone's coming," she hisses, before dropping the hull back into place.

Sonny jumps up and nearly trips over her feet as she lunges onto the bed, throwing the rough blanket over herself just before the door opens. She throws an arm over her eyes, squinting against the bright light from the hall outside, and does her best to act like she'd just been rudely awakened.

"Hey, what the..." she slurs out.

"Quiet," the guard in the doorway barks, raising his blaster, "stay were you are." He stops just inside the door, stepping aside to let another guard past--and with them, L.

The first guard switches his focus to L, training his blaster on the back of her head as the second guard quickly takes a pair of cuffs off L's wrists. L doesn't move, keeping her eyes on the floor, but there's tension written in every line of her body, and the instant the guards leave, she whirls and makes a half-lunge for the door, stopping just short as it locks in her face.

Sonny gets up slowly, keeping her hands in front of her. "Hey," she says softly, taking care not to move when L whirls around to face her. "You alright?"

L doesn't look alright. She's wild-eyed, breathing fast, her hair tangled and a smear of dried blood staining her upper lip, and she stares at Sonny like she doesn't recognize her. Then she lurches forward, so suddenly that Sonny doesn't even have time to react, clutching at the front of Sonny's shirt, hauling her in, and--

_Oh_.

L kisses like she's starving, or drowning, or somewhere in between--half-desperate and half-plaintive and entirely too intense and overwhelming for Sonny to do anything other than hang on for the ride. Instinctively, she grabs on, fingers tangling in L's hair, pushing back a little, trying to match L as best as she can. Somewhere behind her, there's a faint "Oh, _wow_ ," but Sonny doesn't have the brainpower to think about that right now; she's a little preoccupied at the moment.

L breaks off, gasping, and for a brief moment there's a look approaching awe written across her face. Then her eyes snap shut and she shoves herself backward, sinking to the ground with her back against the wall.

Em pokes her head out from under the bed, frozen halfway through climbing out of the hole. "Uh... so I'm gonna guess you're _not_ alright?"

"No," L responds, a hand drifting up to drag through her hair. "Pending Church approval, I... have been scheduled for decommissioning."

Sonny doesn't know what that means, but judging by the way Em goes pale, it isn't anything good.

" _Jeraiq_ ," the hybrid swears, yanking her datapad out and swiping furiously through it, "okay, um, okay. Uh, don't worry. We can figure something out."

L narrows her eyes, an accusatory tone creeping into her voice. "How are you sure?"

"We'll just have to move our plans up a bit." Em bites her lip, worrying it as she types. "Plan C's almost ready to go--just gotta run it by Shrike Leader." She looks up, then stops typing for a moment. "Did you know you're both bleeding?"

"Ah, fuck," Sonny sighs, finally registering the throbbing pain building in her face and gratefully accepting the pouch of sterile gauze Em offers her. All that aggressive kissing with a recently broken nose was really not the brightest idea in the world. L looks equally regretful, experiencing her own nosebleed (definitely a smaller one than Sonny's); she shoots Sonny an apologetic look.

"Sorry," she mumbles.

"It's fine," Sonny shrugs. "Just, maybe... ask next time?"

"Right. If we get a next time."

"Save the fatalism for later," Em interrupts, laser-focused on her datapad again. "You said 'pending Church approval,' right?"

L nods. "That's what he said," she states flatly. "Schedule for decommissioning pending Church approval," and the way she says it, the emotionless, hopeless tone, so similar to how she'd spoken on the flight in...

It finally clicks for Sonny what "decommissioning" means, and her stomach instantly drops into the bottom of her feet.

Em nods, typing furiously. "Alright, I can work with that. Delay it for a few hours, maybe a day, make it seem like a slow connection. These things don't happen right away... bureaucracy takes time."

"How long until Plan C's ready to go?" Sonny demands.

"Dinner tonight, hopefully--" Em cuts herself off as her datapad buzzes, then does a little fistbump. "Yeah, tonight, we've got the go-ahead. Tell your buddies to be ready." She slides back under the bed, dropping into the hole. "I gotta go finalize a few things, okay? I'll be by tomorrow afternoon to get you." She points to L.

"And what about me?" Sonny asks.

Em smirks. "You'll be leaving from the dining hall with everyone else." And with that, she pulls the hull back into place and vanishes, leaving only the hiss of the airlock cycling below to indicate she'd been there.

Sonny looks at L, still huddled on the floor with a hand in her knotted hair, and slowly edges over to sit next to her cellmate. "Looks like you had a rough day," she comments.

L lets out a shaky laugh. "You could say that."

"Wanna talk about it?"

"...why would I?" L asks, confused.

"Oh, um, sometimes it helps." Fuck, she hadn't considered that--L wouldn't have really had anyone to talk to about things like this before. "To share things. Tell someone you trust, and they'll have your back if it happens again. And just, like, so you don't have to carry your burdens alone."

L takes a deep breath and then slumps in on herself, leaning against Sonny's shoulder. "I... can't. Not yet."

"Okay, that's fine." Sonny says. It's better not to push something like this. She raises her other hand to L's head and gets started carefully untangling the long blond hair.

"Talk or not... no matter what, I'm here for you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I finally managed to get this chapter done! You'd think with half my classes cancelled due to quarantine, I'd have more free time to write... but I also have three significantly younger siblings who are stuck at home as well, and both my parents are still working (new postal service motto: neither rain nor snow nor coronavirus keeps them from their duty), so I've had to step into teaching myself. It's exhausting and they never shut up, so finding time to write has been... hard, to say the least.
> 
> In more positive news, I've made a writing blog! You can now find me on tumblr at moonlark-writings; stop by and chat with me about sports and fic!


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